


April's Fool

by BenLMoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: April Fool's Day, First Kiss, M/M, Sam's lame sense of humor, practical joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-26 19:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18288527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore
Summary: Sam should have known this would be Dean’s reaction when exposed to smut about two brothers who hunt monsters and also fuck each other.





	April's Fool

**Author's Note:**

> It's tomorrow somewhere. ;)

[ ](https://imgur.com/tYrWEIM)

 

“It’s going to be a while, Sammy.” 

Dean makes his usual dramatic exit, grinning while Sam grimaces and rolls his eyes.

The moment the bathroom door clicks shut. Suddenly Sam leaps to action, descending on Dean’s laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard as he glances over his shoulders every few seconds.  

As foretold, it’s a while before Dean returns, drying his hands on his jeans. At least he’d washed them.

Sam has had plenty of time to resume his position: stretched out on the bed, ankles crossed, a volume of Sumerian lore on his lap.

Dean tosses the bottle without warning. Sam catches and watches the god of American beer and cheap motels crack his open and down a long pull.

“Ahhh!” For the sake of his ever-captive audience, Dean hisses his satisfaction like a lizard before returning to his laptop.

His finger stirs the mouse and his face shifts. In the span of a single breath, Sam tracks narrow-eyed curiosity, wide-eyed shock and another, more mysterious expression. Dean should be shocked. This is much more his taste in humor. Later, Sam might even wonder what had gotten into him.

Right now, though, he swallows his chuckle and turns the page without reading it.

Dean blinks at the laptop, then at Sam. He scratches his neck and returns his focus to the screen. Sam feigns fascination in his book. He pretends to ignore Dean’s weird faces and the way he cocks his head so far his ear meets his shoulder.

Finally, Sam rises from the bed, silently congratulating himself for a prank well-executed. He struggles to contain the smile as he announces, “Break time. You want anything?”

Dean shakes his head with a rare and solemn silence. Sam clears his throat for full attention. Then, he bends at the waist and pulls a jar from the mini fridge. He groans as he opens the jar and moans around the pickle sucking it in and rolling it out of his mouth again.

Stupid, but also hilarious, watching, Dean’s mouth fall open into the same shape of O.

If only Sam had anybody to bet. His brother had acted all incensed at fan fiction writers characterizing them as bed partners, but at the end of the day, Dean Winchester is a carnal creature. This is his real reaction when exposed to smut about two brothers who hunt monsters and also fuck each other.

That’s it. That’s as far as the sophomoric element of Sam’s mind had taken the joke: show his brother the site, perform oral on produce. Is he twelve? No. But they just nailed a case, and how often do they stop for laugh?

In fact, it’s too funny not to enjoy a moment longer. Sam grins and holds out his prize. “You sure you don’t…”

Dean slams his laptop shut. “You ever think we should just try it?”

“Try what?”

“You know,” Dean scrubs his chin. “Chuck. Those stories.”

Now it’s Sam’s head that cocks. “You’re not serious. Are you serious?”

Dean shrugs.

Even if Sam had thought this far, his mental train would never have selected this track. In his mind, Dean would see the picture, maybe read a few lines. Then Sam would do the pickle tease and have a good laugh.

Now, he’s standing toe to toe with Dean who is licking his plump lips, hunter-green eyes glinting despite the low light.

Dean pecks. Perfectly chaste. The kind of sweet kiss that Sam wouldn’t have believed his brother could deliver.

“Hm.” Dean nods and turns away.

“What is… What does ‘Hm’ even mean?”

Dean shrugs. “Nothing. I just expected… I’m just going to say this. You’re not a very good kisser, are you?”

“What? That wasn’t even a real kiss.”

“Whatever, man. For one thing, you taste like pickle. But even beyond that, wasn’t that great.”

Since they were kids, Dean has advertised himself as Don Juan and Cassanova rolled into one insufferable package. It took some catching up, but Sam had a fair share of experience in school, thank you very much. He doesn’t need to brag about it or toss himself at every human female they encounter.

Kissing is science. That much Sam knows. You smile at the girl, you put your hands…

God, it’s been a while, but it’s like riding a bike, which Sam was never very good at.

It’s like firing a gun.

It’s not like firing a gun.

Anyway, Sam is an adult and there is no reason to get roped into his brother’s asinine, insignificant comparisons.

“For the record,” he says. “I’m a very good kisser. You’re not the only person who knows how to do things.”  

And now Sam really does sound twelve. This entire prank has flown off the rails.  

“Try it again.” 

“Just drop it, Sammy,” Dean said, shaking his head like the asshole 16-year-old he’ll never cease to be. “You’re tall. Girls don’t care if you can kiss.”

Before he can get away, Sam grabs Dean’s shirt in both fists and smashes their faces together. It isn’t exactly his most smooth approach, but he’s not romancing. He’s making a point. 

Or he was making a point. Now, there’s an additional tongue in his mouth, sliding over his soft pallet. Sam is weightless and warm. Weak knees, light head: the whole cliched bit. Only Sam always assumed the cliche was based on fairytale. It’s never been like this, not with Jess or anyone else.  

Dean touches Sam’s face and he stops trying to dominate or think. He lets himself melt between the push-pull of soft lips and the broad, warm hand at the small of his back. The fingers of the other sliding into his hair. 

A sound in the room next door creates the clarity to push gently against Dean’s chest, but Sam’s bottom lip is captive between careful teeth. A speedway rumbles low in Sam’s belly.  

Finally, Dean releases him and backs away with a hint of a smirk on his moist mouth. “Happy Huntigowk’s, bitch. Now, I’m going to brush my teeth, because dill pickles ain’t hot.”

Sam shakes his head, but the fog hangs between his ears. Despite his best intentions, he watches Dean’s ass glide toward the bathroom. It’s even more challenging not to adjust his pants.  

“Also,” Dean sticks his head out of the door and chuckles. “You ought to check out the stories with the anal fisting and the felching. We are a pair of dirty boys, Sammy. Filthy, I tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and for your comments.  
> Feel free to be in touch on FB or email:  
> BenLMooreFanFic@gmail.com


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